Pleasure Extraordinaire 1 (PURSUIT)

by Liv Bennett

  I should have left a note or something for Adam, I think to myself, as I wipe my tears away and notice through the rearview mirror a green sedan driving a little too close to me. Adam must be dead worried, and I can’t even imagine Valerie’s attitude. I decide to text Bree as soon as I get home and floor the gas pedal. At least, the others will enjoy themselves without their crazy boss bitching around.

  I smile at the thought of anyone calling me bitch behind my back. Frightening maybe, freaky most likely, demanding surely, but a bitch? Bree reported to me more than a couple of times how happy and thrilled everyone is to be working at my company, even though I forbid employees chatting with each other or using Internet for anything besides work-related reasons and made it clear to them that I’d randomly check their browsing histories.

  I wipe my tears away as I spot the La Brea exit on the highway, but can’t slide into the right lane on time, and miss the exit. Punching the steering wheel, I take the Crenshaw and notice the green sedan is right after me, taking the same exit.

  With a little bit of traffic, I make it to the parking lot of the residency where my condo is in twenty minutes. A yawning attack hits me, as I kill the engine in my parking slot and pull out the key from the ignition. I wrap my scarf over my shoulders and grab my purse before opening the door.

  I note it’s chillier here in Miracle Mile than the Peninsula’s front entry, wondering whether the hotel invests in heaters at the entrance. That’d be the ultimate customer satisfaction.

  I hear murmurs deep inside the lot when I reach the elevator. While I continuously hit the button, I turn around to find out the source of the noise. No one is to be seen. Must be a neighbor, I think to myself to calm down, but if the tapping of my shoe is a sign of anything, it is that of my fear. I look around once again to make sure it’s just the wind or even some rat, but my senses are all about fight or flight. I glance down at my boots, whose heels appear miles long with my anxiety. Just the right length to break my ankles, were I to start running in them.

  Good thing the residency is gated and secure.

  The two elevators seem to be stuck at the lobby. I push the button three more times, angry at the people who selfishly keep them occupied. I’d rather have some more traffic on the way home than wait for the elevator in these boots.

  Suddenly, I feel a strong grip on my arm, and a hand covers my mouth. My senses haven’t been wrong. Whoever is gripping me doesn’t have benign intentions and moves the hand that was holding my arm toward my neck. Terror washes over me as I remember the killing scenes in the movies and how easy it is to kill someone with just a twist of the neck. However, he’s too strong for me to even move a hand, let alone break free from his iron grip.

  I inhale deeply and try to scream, although his salty hand is firmly covering my mouth. My voice is too low, especially for the people in the lobby to hear. If the elevator arrives, the doorman might hear me through its open doors. But, the fucking elevator is more stubborn than the hands holding me caged and paralyzed.

  The attacker now squeezes my throat and covers both my mouth and nose, leaving me no chance to breathe. My lungs burn without air, and my stomach revolts at the disgusting salty taste of his sweaty hand. If I can’t think of a way out, these will be my last seconds.

  I always imagined I’d welcome death, if it came, after Jack was gone. His absence was too painful to even think of living a long life. But, it’s not that way. Even though I wished I’d die and finally re-unite with Jack, now all I want is to dig my fingers in and hold on to life with all my power.

  In a matter of seconds, my already insignificant existence will cease. Will anyone remember me after five years? Ten years? I won’t be able to leave a child behind, someone who would come to my grave and beautify it with flowers, nor a piece of art that would allow me to continue living in people’s minds. I will be a nothing. And for a strange reason, the nothingness makes me think about my boots and their high and heavy heels.

  I lift my right foot and slam it directly on the attacker’s foot. He jerks back and hauls me down to the floor. Taking advantage of my suddenly free airway, I inhale a deep breath and begin screaming my ears deaf, earning me an excruciating punch in my stomach.

  “Shut the fuck up,” the attacker yells at me as he pulls me up. His face is scarier than any man I’ve come close to. Deep scars and dark tattoos cover the majority of his face. He slaps me with so much force that I fly back down onto the floor, and he begins kicking me. I taste blood as I double over to protect myself from his kicks, in vain.

  Dying from a twist of the neck would have been much better than being beaten to death. I whisper Jack’s name and beg him to help me.

  All of a sudden, the elevator doors slide open, and I see a pair of black shoes jumping out toward me.

  “Taylor.” I hear a familiar voice screaming and the attacker collapses onto the floor beside me.

  “Adam,” I choke out his name together with blood and try to move away from the attacker. As though Adam knew the attacker had kicked me in the stomach, he fires away violent kicks into his, one after another. I see blood coming out of the attacker’s mouth, but Adam doesn’t look like he’ll stop kicking anytime soon. “Adam, stop,” I beg with my cracked voice. “You’ll kill him.”

  He stops to look at me and shoots one more kick to the attacker’s back before he bents down to help me up.

  A sudden gunshot at the entrance of the parking lot startles me. “Leave him alone,” a man yells and another deafening shot follows. The attacker on the ground uses the distraction to spring to his feet and disappears toward the exit. Breathless, I turn to Adam but go numb when I see him sprawled on the floor.

  “Oh, my god, Adam! Are you shot?” Fisting his jacket, I shake him until he turns his face to me.

  “I think so.” He raises his hand and places it onto his chest, close to his heart.

  Is he really shot? In the heart? I wipe open the jacket and rip the shirt apart to examine his chest.

  “They might come back.” Adam coughs. “Take me to the elevator and call the police.”

  I put his arm around my neck and push myself hard to get onto my feet. Hell, he’s heavy and my boots aren’t helping. We stump each step until we get to the elevator and fall onto the floor once we’re inside. I reach up to push the lobby button and go back to examining Adam’s chest, which is now covered with warm blood. Worse yet, he’s passed out.

  *

  As soon as we arrive at the hospital, the doctors take Adam to surgery. While waiting in the ICU waiting room, a police officer approaches me to take my statement regarding the attack. I recite to him what little I remember. How much can one say about being attacked by a tattooed and scarred man, while waiting for the elevator in the parking lot?

  “He grabbed me by my mouth, tried to twist off my neck, I smashed his foot with my high heels—” The cop glances down at my feet. I don’t miss the arching of his eyebrows. Yeah, we women like to torture ourselves, but every now and then we manage to torture others, too, “I started screaming and then Adam showed up and rescued me. But, the guy’s accomplice, who was waiting at the exit, shot Adam right in the chest. I don’t remember anything else about them afterwards. I suppose the two ran away immediately.”

  “Do you have any idea who they might be?”

  When I shake my head no, he asks me to describe them. I try to give as many details about the attacker as possible but can’t manage it beyond talking about the tattoos and scars on his face. Afterwards, a nurse tends to my injuries. I have bruises all over my stomach but nothing serious, like internal bleeding.

  The thought of being seconds away from death still haunts me. However, that Adam may die or be permanently injured because of me makes my stomach revolt with pain. I’m so grateful to him, yet angry at him for risking his life for me.

  The nurse gives me pain killers and releases me. I’m back in the waiting room, feeling as though I’ll shuffle off this mortal coil if I have to wait longer, wi
thout hearing whether Adam will make it or not. My hands and knees shake violently, and my stomach is on the verge of emptying itself. I debate for a while whether I should call Valerie or not, but knowing all too well how she’ll grill me about being reckless and irresponsible, I decide against it. But, I need someone thoughtful beside me to calm me down and take care of me and Adam, if I pass out. So, I text Bree, and explain to her briefly about the attack, and ask her politely to accompany me.

  She arrives before I know it and brings me green tea, clean clothes, and shoes. Wow, talk about being thoughtful. I burst into tears as soon as I see her and thank her for being there for me. I change into the blue t-shirt, jeans, and sandals she brought and dump the boots into the nearest garbage bin. Although it was thanks to them that I could injure the attacker to get a chance to scream, my feet can’t take any more of their abuse.

  “You’re the best,” I say and take the seat beside her in the waiting room.

  “I can’t say no to that.” She tugs a strand of hair behind my ear. Since when is she such a mother hen? I begin reciting the attack and Adam’s shooting, this time with detail.

  “What was Adam doing in your apartment building?” Her mouth is wide open with shock and worry. I can see Valerie asking the same question with a whole different attitude.

  I glance down at my hands. “I don’t know, but I can guess why.”

  She doesn’t prompt me, so I take my time to speak. It’s more of an explanation for me than for Bree. “I got a little emotional while Adam and I were dancing at the party. I didn’t want people to see me crying.”

  “Did you cry? I didn’t notice it. You both looked like you were enjoying the song. Did you know it was Adam’s pick? He practically begged me for it.” A ghost of a smile flickers across her lips.

  I shake my head disapprovingly. I should have known Bree was Adam’s partner in crime. “No, I didn’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. When I started crying I didn’t want others to see my outburst, so I left. I think Adam thought I was upset with him and came after me to apologize. You know how stubborn he can be.”

  “You’re lucky that he is.”

  “You don’t need to tell me that. The guy attacked me with the intention of killing me.” I hug myself as the images of his kicks to my stomach flash across my mind.

  “Do you have any idea who the guy might be or who he’s working for?”

  I shake my head no. “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

  “I can’t imagine our competitors stooping so low,” Bree says. “Any relative who may inherit money from you in the event of your death?”

  “You know my sister. She wouldn’t attempt such a thing. Neither would my cousin or aunt.”

  Bree raises an eyebrow. “So, no relatives who can benefit from your death. There is one other motivation…”

  “Which?” I ask.

  “You must have angered someone so much he’s taking his revenge,” Bree says apologetically.

  I manage to elicit a snort. “That seems to me the most likely motivation. I have a long list of dry cleaners, cashiers, and waiters who hate me enough to plot my end.”

  “In any case, I don’t think it’s safe to return back home soon. They may attack you again,” Bree points out and rightly so. But, I’m not worried about that.

  “I wasn’t planning to. I’ll squat at the hospital until I’m sure Jack is fine,” I say.

  “You mean Adam, right?”

  I review what I’ve just said and glance at Bree with embarrassment. “Just a slip of the tongue.”

  “It’s the first time you’ve made this mistake around me.”

  “Well, it’s also the first time I’ve had a blood-thirsty criminal kicking my brains out.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Bree looks miserable and I don’t want the night turn to more miserable than it already is.

  “I know you didn’t mean anything. You know what actually saved my ass? But don’t tell it to Adam.” I tell her the part with my high-heels landing on the attacker’s feet. This instantly puts us into a laugh attack, under the angry looks of the other visitors in the waiting room. I deserve a little laughter, don’t I? But, my real laughter will come when I hear from Adam’s doctor. My nerves are over the edge and the lack of sleep isn’t helping either.

  Finally, one of the doctors who took Adam to surgery shows up, and I jolt right up to my feet and run to him.

  “I have good news.” The doctor nods to Bree when she arrives. “We removed the bullet. Fortunately, it didn’t hit his heart, but he lost a lot of blood and will need a transfusion. We don’t have enough O negative blood reserves in the hospital. I’ve just got the Cedar Sinai’s officer on the phone to request some from their reserves. They’ll be sending it in a few hours.”

  “Adam is O negative?” I ask, but without waiting for the doctor’s reply, I continue. “I’m O negative, too. But, I drank alcohol a few hours ago.”

  “Oh.” The doctor scratches his head. “How many hours ago was it?”

  Bree tugs at my arm. “That champagne you drank was non-alcoholic. I arranged it so you don’t get… you know.”

  I scowl at her words, trying to decide whether I should be upset with her or thankful. But I did feel light-headed as if I drank alcohol. Was it just an illusion?

  “In that case,” the doctor interferes. “Would you like to donate for Mr. Garnett?”

  “Nothing could stop me from donating my non-alcoholic blood,” I reply and follow the doctor to a room where a nurse makes me lie down on a long chair and sticks a needle into my arm. Bree sits by my side, cringing and hardly looking at my direction.

  “Man up,” I joke but still can’t make her look at me. Instead, she gets up and excuses herself. Perhaps, I shouldn’t have made fun of her. Donating blood sucks, particularly when I’m tired and agitated.

  After an hour of struggling in a half-sleeping, half-awake state, the nurse finally pulls the needle out and offers me a bottle of orange juice. I find Bree in the waiting room with a bowl of take-out fettucini alfredo with chicken. I couldn’t have been happier with her.

  *

  Fifteen hours past surgery and Adam is still in a coma. Bree and I took turns trying to sleep, but we’re both drained of our resources. I go to the vending machine to get coffee for us and when I return I find Bree talking to a nurse.

  “Adam is awake.” Bree jumps up and down and drags me by my arm behind the nurse. I manage to drop the coffee cups into a trash can on our way and straighten my hair before I enter Adam’s room.

  I don’t know what I expect to see after his surgery, but finding him so pale, broken, and beside himself, and his chest wrapped up in bandages sends panic through my veins. I was beaten down for several minutes, but compared to me, Adam looks like he was trampled by a gang. I swallow the large lump of guilt in my throat and put on my calmest face as I move toward his bed.

  “Hi,” he whispers without moving his cracked lips. His eyes are only half-way open. Why does he even want to see us? He should go back to sleep and recover.

  Before I know it, Bree leaps the distance between the door and Adam, springs to his bed, and tightly hugs him, all the while letting out loud sobs. “Oh, Adam. I thought you would die. Thank God you’re alive.”

  Crap, I’m a cold-hearted witch compared to Bree.

  Adam closes his eyes and gives out an exhausted smile. “I’m not easy to get rid of.” Then he opens his eyes and shoots one long, flirtatious look at me. Even a bullet in the chest isn’t able to stop him from being the playboy he is. I’ll give him that.

  “Bree, please be gentle,” I say. My voice comes out more edgy than I’ve intended.

  “I’m okay, Bree. She’s just jealous.” Adam turns down to Bree and winks at her. “I have enough space here for both of you.” He eyes me as he tries to raise his bandaged arm but can’t move it beyond lifting his fingers. It breaks my heart, seeing him this vulnerable. I wish I could change places with him. But one thing is s
ure; if Adam hadn’t shown up in time I’d be in a morgue rather than a hospital bed.

  Bree gets off the bed and pulls a chair to sit, without letting go of Adam’s hand. I walk toward the bed, to the side where he was shot, trying to imagine the deep hole in his chest. Will he have a scar for life? An irrevocable gift from me.

  “It’s all my fault,” I whisper and bite my lips.

  “Why?” He frowns. “Did you hire the guys to first beat you up and then shoot at me?”

  “Of course not, silly.” I roll my eyes slowly for an effect, biting my lips to conceal my smile.

  I glance at Bree, whose face is now wet with tears, and motion her to the door. “We should let Adam rest.” She gets up and leans down over the bed. I stare at her in total shock when she plants a kiss on Adam’s cheek before leaving.

  As soon as Bree is at the door, I run my fingers softly on the back of Adam’s hand.

  He doesn’t miss the chance to grab my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry about the party.”

  I think for a moment to remember what he’s sorry about. “Ah, long forgotten. It wasn’t your fault anyway. I’m an emotional wreck, and I’ve come to terms with it.”

  “The nurse told me that you gave me blood.”

  I shrug it off. What is a pint of blood compared to him saving my life?

  “Like I was singing to you last night; I’ve got you under my skin.” He closes his eyes, but a teasing smile stays on his lips. I shake my head in shock, wishing I had the guts to kiss his lips just to show him he’s not the only one who can play this game. But, I’m a coward. Have always been, will always be.

  About The Author

  Liv Bennett lives in California with her scientist husband, toddler daughter, and two loud budgies. Reading and writing erotic romance are her favorite forms of relaxation, in addition to long walks and yoga. She’s a social drinker of coffee but a serious tea addict.

  slivbennett@gmail.com

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